This was just an idea I had that I wanted to jot down. It's fairly quick and skimpy on a great amount of detail but that is usually my style. Constructive criticism is welcome but please note that this is just a rough idea. Thanks.
It was obvious to all but the man on the floor that he was dead, presently and always from this time, deceased and utterly incapable of ever being anything but that. Splashes of his blood covering the wall behind him, dripping, draining, forming a pool around his body that could only be described as excessive or grotesque. The somewhat tacky wallpaper of the room now ruined, bullet holes, three dead bodies including his own. Three dead bodies that just a few moments ago were wrapped up in the case of their lives yet now we come to the surprise conclusion that their lives had ended before even truly getting started. A movement of the hand, the sound of a car speeding away, the slumped down man against the wall who's pool of blood was just a few seconds ago almost certainly his death sentence began to twitch. His hand holding the shattered remains of a whiskey glass, shaking it free a certain lightheadedness came over him. The distinct feeling of rapid blood loss and the decline of his mortal being. "Fuck..." He murmured to himself, sliding his body up the wall, a smear of red in its trail. The bullets had only penetrated some semi-vital areas but this man, his determination, it is far too great. Far too great to let some two bit thugs and their driveby scare him away. Looking at the body of his now former partner, his now former client, strewn about on the floor with bullets in places far more deadly than him... he had no words. Broken but not beat, slowly kneeling down though in great pain. Bullets still in his arms and legs, picking up his partners black fedora and placing it on his head ever so slowly. Throwing on his trenchcoat that only had a little bit of blood on it, throwing it over his person in an attempt to hide his carnage the man knew his next move.
Walking out, stumbling out for lack of a better word of the hotel that by all means was on the bad side of the city, the bad side of a bad place, he knew he had to act fast. There was only one man in this entire city whom he could trust with his body knocked unconscious. One man whom was nearly impossible to find yet now more than ever his services was needed. Floating through his head were ideas, ideas on just what he and his partner had gotten himself into. Three weeks prior everything was fantastic, peachy, their detective agency was hailed as the greatest one in the entire city and yet they were ghosts. Impossible to find. Their work was quick, clean and efficient. Never getting mucked up with emotion. This all changed when on that fated day some twenty one days ago that they accept a job. A routine case, missing persons, some old rich man never came home to his twenty year old glorified sex slave and she came to them begging for their help, obviously because his will had not yet been finalized. A case that anyone would call low risk, low involvement and she wasn't bad on the eyes either.
Coughing up a bit in his hand, the distinct shade of red that covered the room behind him, the taste of metal that mixed with the damp night air and quickly filled up his lungs. Undoubtedly his time was short. Step by agonizing step he walked, down the wet side street the hotel was located on, past the prostitutes and their johns and into the open red light district where few taxis dared to go but tonight may have held some form of twisted luck for the young detective as he took off his partners former fedora and managed to hail one down in a hurry. "Do you know where the... abandoned hospital in? Out... outside of town." Becoming delirious a bit, the cabbie a bit worried as he turned around, the color all but completely gone from the detective's face.
"Y-you okay buddy?" Reaching his hand through the small plexiglass hole to shake the now slumped over detective yet he was stopped in his advance by a hand on his wrist. The detective looked up from his slump, hand firmly around the cabbies wrist.
"Drive..." The words escaped his mouth, slumped over again, letting go of the frightened mans hand. Disregarding any sort of law or common sense that the driver had, blowing through any red light in his way, driving over the bridge out of the city like a mad man. Barely conscious in the backseat, smiling a bit now, his hand reaching up to pull the brim of the fedora down over his eyes. If he were to die here it would be too bad. It would be too bad to die like this. That's why he could not.
The rundown hospital that was abandoned by any logical line of reasoning was finally upon them and the detective fumbled through his pocket in an attempt to give his savior some money for his troubles. "Don't worry about it, I don't know who you are or what you're doing here and I can't help you go through with this but you're a man barely clinging onto life. As a religious man I can't accept your money, no charge." A smile appearing on the face of the young detective, coughing up a bit more blood, sliding out of the door and into the familiar night air again. Only coming here a few times prior the young detective still knew the drill and as the cabbie sped away, he began his work. The large rod iron gates, now rusted from years of neglect, were a source of fright and fear to most but for him no, this was his bastion. Slow steps, deliberate, making his way to the inner side of the fence and there it was. A rock with no real business being there, out of place, kicking it over in a haste and smashing his finger on the button that was hidden underneath with all of the life he had left within his bones. This was his last gasp.
Waking sometime later in an operating room, wounds covered in bandages and empty bags of "donated" blood thrown about all over the floor. A quiet voice approached him from the right. "Someone really did a number on you hm? Where is Andrew?" The feminine voice reached out and entered his ears, instantly recognized as a friend and his thin veil of counterattack was lifted.
"Dead." The young detective spoke of his partner, looking to his right to see the "female" underground doctor who referred to him or herself as Destiny. It wasn't clear though judging by her large adam's apple, the young detective could only assume that it was infact a he and he was a very avid crossdresser. "Just like I should be right now." A faint gasp escaping the doctor's lips.
"Your good luck finally caught up with you two, hm? What a shame Andrew was really good looking too... poor boy..." Stepping into the light now, smoking an extended cigarette and placing its cold clammy hands on his forehead. Laying there, this uncomfortable hospital bed, not stark naked but may as well be. "Some unusual wounds you had there, I must say, I wasn't aware they still made hollow points in this caliber. Someone really wanted you dead." A flash of inspiration in a time of otherwise absolute hopelessness. An unusual bullet in an unusual caliber? There was more to this case. More to that old man and his bimbo. There was more to all of this. Hastily the young detective attempted to sit up though in vain. "Boy you need your rest, it wasn't easy extracting all of those shards from your body, luckily I am the best and your body is resilient or I am afraid I would be burning you in the furnace right now." A bit of sick glee in its voice, walking away from the bed, the clacking of high heels.
"What do you know about an old man named..." Escaping him for a moment, the damage done by all that blood loss still taking its toll on the detective's mind. "Myers. Albert Myers." Looking towards the shadows where the good doctor had vanished. Hoping for an answering but knowing the good doctor fairly well he did not expect a straight one.
"Very little. Seems to have a lot of money but from what I can tell he is just a white collar crook. Made most of his money by manipulating futures in the stock market some years ago, other than that however what I know about him is about as equal to you. Why? An eighty year old man got the best of you?" Coming from the shadows again, this time with a large syringe filled with a green liquid. Liquid that the detective did not recognize but as the good doctor sad on the foot of his bed and shoved the large needle deep into his thigh, scraping his bone yet not causing him to cry out in pain. It was an intense feeling, the cold liquid rushing into his body and all at once he could feel the effects. His wounds began to close up rapidly and the fatigue that was once in his body vanished in an instant. A puzzled look on his face, tilting his head up to the doctor who winked at him slyly. "I am the best for a reason. A brew of my own doing. The only side effect is..." Just then the detective hunched over the side of the bed and began to vomit profusely from his mouth, every muscle in his body contracting at once. "That." After his spat of vomiting his back was firmly against the hospital bed again.
"I owe you one." The young detective spoke, recollecting for a brief moment on everything that had just happened. Gathering what small bits of information he had, an unusual gun, a usual rich old man whom not even the doctor knew about. He had two courses of action now, find the most knowledgeable gun expect in the city or find an information dealer and shake them down. "Maybe even two." A slight smile as he ripped the bandages off his body, now almost completely back to normal. Sitting on the edge of the bed, planting his feet firmly on the cold tile floor.
"Try three!" Glee in the doctor's voice again. "Pay me back after your little mission though, I can tell by your eyes that I don't want to jostle you the wrong way right now. Try and not ruin that gorgeous body of yours out there on the streets." Giggling a bit, the doctor walked away until its giggles could not be heard any longer but instead the cold sound of silence. His shirt and coat were on the small chair next to him, cleaned and pressed, perhaps he was out longer than he thought. Buttoning up his dress shirt, throwing on the suit jacket over it slowly he made his way across the room. Familiar, almost too familiar in a sense. He had been here too many times in the past for one thing or another, the small trap door that was invisible to the naked eye from the outside. Climbing up the rusted ladder and into the dawn of morning, pulling from his jacket pocket a small pack of crushed cigarettes and matches halfway soaked with blood. At least it was his own and at least the doctor put them back after cleaning his clothes. Placing the cigarette to his lips, managing to catch a light on the damp matches by some miracle, a hot ember forming on the edge of the cigarette as the two forces met and with a large inhale he began to calm down.
"No time like the present..." Looking behind himself at the trap door, closing up up and making sure it's fully hidden again. His eyes searching the grounds, nothing unusual. Not expecting himself to be followed, certainly not after he was certainly dead, a small black car was parked in front of the gate however. Empty, no signs of life anywhere around, approaching it slowly though still pluming smoke from his mouth, inhaling on the cigarette every now and then. Ashes falling to his feet, on the dashboard of the card was a small note that said simply: 'Come back anytime, boy. You are welcome.' Signed with a kiss of way too much lipstick. A gift from the doctor? Feeling underneath the drivers side frame, the keys placed there neatly. Smiling a bit the young detective unlocked the door after flinging his burnt down cigarette aside.
Created: Jul 25, 2012faceofbear Document Media